Booth Got Off Too Easy
by bookdiva
Summary: Set durring 620 tpitp...I was angry with Booth. Who does he think he is to lecture Brennan? Well, I didn't like it, and here is what I think should have happened.
1. Chapter 1

"Why is this so important to you Booth?" I asked. I tried to sound calm, but I was starting to get a bit annoyed. Why couldn't he understand that the idea of a forensic podiatrist was… preposterous? That it undermined everything that I did—_my whole life's work_? Why should I have to apologize for using my intellect and publicly stating my opinion? Do we not live in America, the land of the free?

"Because I know the kind of person that you are, and I think you should let other people in on the secret too," he said softly. He said it like he cared—like he'd always cared—and there was an arrogant note in his voice, like he thought he knew my inner self better than I did.

I turned and looked out the window. His comment made me so angry that I couldn't even look at him. Who was he to talk about the kind of person that I really am? He sure didn't like her when she came through—on the few occasions that I'd allowed her to show. So why should I listen to him?

"Because that's worked _so_ very well in the past," I muttered under my breath. The trees were flying by out my window, but I wasn't looking at them. How could he even think that I would ever, _ever_ open myself up again? And to just some random man who practices a science that absolutely… _galls_ me? I'd known that we were drifting apart the last few months, but I hadn't realized that he'd completely forgotten everything he used to know about me.

Everyone I'd ever let in—everyone who'd ever seen the real me—had taken off running in the opposite direction. My mother and father… Russ… _ Booth_…. I wouldn't take the same course a fourth time and expect to end up with a different result.

But, underneath my logic, I knew that I wouldn't open myself up again because I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle yet another rejection—from anyone, but especially from Booth. It was annoying to realize that I had changed enough to realize the psychological changes and accept them as real. So much good that did me!

"What was that?" he asked after a long pause. Though he tried to sound causal, I could tell by his tone that he had, in fact, heard me perfectly well. With my anger simmering to a metaphorical boil, I saw no reason to hide it from him. After all, wasn't he the one who was telling me to open my emotions to the world? His hypocrisy caused my 'blood to boil in anger'—as Booth would say—but I turned and looked him in the eye.

"I am not an insane person, Booth," I said in my coldest, most detached voice—the one I usually used when relating the injuries of the murder victim. "The definition of insanity is perpetually doing the same thing, and yet still expect a different result. I am not insane, therefore, I will not repeat the same course of action more times than I already have and expect a different result." Then I turned away from him, looking back out my window. I couldn't bear to look at him; it was too painful.

"What does you _not _being insane have anything to do with showing people who you really are?" he asked as he pulled the car to a stop at the suspect's residence. I sighed. It wasn't right of me to get so angry at him; it wasn't right of me to expect anything from him anymore. We were no longer _us_—I had no claim. I was just being selfish, I knew that, but I was still angry.

"Because no one likes her," I said evenly. I would no longer give my anger a voice—though I wished I could—because I had no right to it. It was hard though. With great restraint, I was able to keep the anger simmering below the surface, but I wasn't sure how long I could keep it there. "Why should I continue to be a person that no one likes? How is that at all rational?"

_That's it,_ I told myself. _Keep it rational; keep it logical. _

"What are you talking about Bones?" he responded immediately. "I've seen who you really are, and I think you're great!" He tried to smile his charm smile at me, but I looked away, refusing to let him affect me.

"No you don't Booth," I said. Although I kept telling myself that I wasn't owed anything, I knew deep down that I owed him everything—including an explanation. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I didn't let him speak. "You don't like the scientist who refutes professions and practices that she believes to be unnecessary; you don't like the woman who does not eat meat and who does not like pie because cooked fruit is a waste of the fruit's nutritional values; you don't like the awkward, anti social who doesn't know pop culture references, who takes idioms seriously, and who doesn't understand sarcasm; you don't like little girl who can't face rejection because she's had too much of it. Those are all facts, Booth. You don't like those things, but they are what make up the _real_ me." I felt the car stop and paused for a breath, but again, I continued before he could break in. "When I told you that I wasn't good enough for you, you believed me; when I told you that I couldn't change, you agreed and said that you'd just move on then; when I told you how much I love you and how much I regret trying to protect you and that stupid little girl who's afraid of rejection, you ran the other way. Since everything has already happened, I see no reason for us to discuss this further. We have a case to solve." With that, I opened my door and got out. I was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and I was at the home of a potential suspect. I would be nothing if not professional.

"There appears to be no one home," I said to Booth, completely professional. "Do we have the proper paperwork to enter this facility?"

There was no answer, so I turned to look at him. He was standing behind me with his terrible puppy dog expression on his face. This brought my simmering anger back to a boil.

"Bones," he said slowly with a frustrated sigh. "What the hell do you think you're saying? How could you think that I don't like you?" He sighed again. "You know that's not true, it's just you being too weak to face reality."

I couldn't believe my ears (Metaphorically of course. I knew logically that my hearing was just fine and that nothing had happened to change that.)

"Weak?" I asked. I was unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. _Is he really calling _me_ weak?_

"Yes, weak," he retorted. "The impervious Dr. Brennan can't deal with something, so she either runs away from it or overly logicates it." He smirked, seeming proud of himself—as if he'd just given me an insight into my soul that I should've seen all along—and that was the last straw on the restraint that held back my anger.

"I. Am. Not. Weak." I said, pronouncing each word carefully. "I am an intelligent, successful woman who has overcome many adversities to get to this point. I have a career—forensic anthropology of the body _as a whole unit_—that is my life. I have traveled to lands that you cannot even pronounce and have lived off nothing for months—even years. I have led the scientific world ever since I entered it." I leveled my eyes at him. "So, I may be socially inept, emotionally ignorant, and my heart may be impenetrable, but I am not _weak_."

"And for all that Temperance," he said pointedly, "what will you have left when you can't be a scientist anymore? When you die?"

And just like that, my world was gone. His words cut into me like a knife. His eyes widened as he realized what he had said.

"Bones—" he reached out to me, but I shied away from him, unable to process what's just happened.

"No," I whispered backing up as fast as I can until I hit a brick wall. My head slapped against the brick and I winced in pain. My vision blurred, but I tried to recover quickly, not wanting to prove him right. Then I yelled louder, "No! Stay away from me!" And I turned to flee in the other direction, the only thing on my mind being to get as far away from him as possible, but he caught my arm. I turned to face him, but everything was spinning.

"Bones," he started. I slapped his face and jerked my arm from his grasp. He stood there for a moment in shock. I used this time to collect my thoughts.

"Booth," I said quietly my voice sounding a little funny, "I am going to take a walk and call someone else for a ride home. Do not follow me, just get in the car and go home." With that, I turned on my heel and left. I didn't hear footsteps behind me. I began to run, but everything seemed to be spinning so it was more like stumbling.

The world around me was still spinning, but I didn't care. I wasn't watching where I was going, I just ran. When I finally stopped, I leaned against a tree and broke down into sobs. I hated myself for crying—hated myself for proving Booth right—but I couldn't help it.

For the last seven years, Booth had been my world. I don't know when it happened—I never consciously decided to make him the center of my life—it just happened. Now, he no longer cared about me; he was no longer the man I relied on—the man who was my center. I took a deep breath to calm myself and try to make everything stand still.

When I was finally calm enough that I thought I could call without breaking down, I took out my cell phone and stumbled up to the road to get signal to call Angela. She answered on the third ring.

"Hey Sweetie!" she greeted me. "Did you speak to your latest suspect already? That sure was fast."

At the sound of her voice, I lost it again. I let loose a sob. "Ange," was all I managed to get out.

"Brennan? Oh my!" she sounded panicked. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Ange," I said managing to calm myself. "C-could you p-p-please co-come and g-g-get me?" I related my location to her as best I could. "Booth…" I tried to explain, but I couldn't.

"Is he okay?" she asked immediately.

"He—he's f-fine," I half-heartedly reassured her. "But he…h-he," I trailed off as I broke into tears again.

"It's okay Sweetie," Angela said. "I'll be there in a few minutes okay?"

I sighed in relief. We weren't more than ten minutes out of Washington D.C., so Ange would be here quickly.

I tried to say "Okay" and express my gratitude in response, but nothing would come out. I opened my mouth, but my larynx refused to work. All that came out was a strangled moan. The spinning was back, but it was worse now. I knew I was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Bren?" Angela's worried voice came from the other side of the line. I tried to moan again—make any noise really—so that she would know that I was alive. "Bren, I'm coming. We'll be there as soon as we can! Oh—"

Suddenly, there was nothing but blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why is this so important to you Booth?" she asked. Her voice was strained with forced calm. She wasn't looking at me. Instead, she was staring absently out her window, unconsciously twisting her hair around her finger. It was a very unusual activity for her.

I sighed and tried to calm my voice. She closes herself off as a defense mechanism—I get that—but still. Just because I understand it, that doesn't mean I think it's right. I know that she's stronger than that—or at least she _should _be—but I knew that saying that out loud wouldn't get me anywhere with her.

"Because I know the kind of person that you are, and I think you should let other people in on the secret too," I said instead in a patient voice. I tried to make my voice soft and unthreatening.

Her eyes flashed up at me, and I saw her anger before she turned and looked out the window. My comment obviously angered her, but I couldn't see why. I hadn't even said what I was really thinking.

"Because that's worked _so_ very well in the past," she muttered under her breath, but I heard her perfectly. I couldn't understand her bitter comment. How could she still be so stuck in the distant past?

"What was that?" I asked. Though I tried to sound causal, I knew my tone gave me away, and she knew that I'd heard her perfectly well. Suddenly, her posture changed. She sat up straight in her seat, and she turned and looked me straight in the eyes. She was mad; she was ready for a fight. I'd never seen her that… angry.

"I am not an insane person, Booth," she said in her coldest, most detached voice. The cool tone and dispassionate, blue fire in her eyes sent chills down his body. Yes. She was definitely mad. At me.

_But what does insanity have to do with anything? _Booth wondered. _Did I imply…? _He thought back and couldn't remember offending her recently.

"The definition of insanity is to perpetually do the same thing, and yet continually expect a different result," she continued. So she wasn't completely oblivious to my confusion. As usual. "I am not insane, therefore, I will not repeat the same course of action more times than I already have and expect a different result." Then she turned away from me again, back to looking back out her window like she couldn't bear to look at me, as if she'd made complete sense and there was nothing left to say.

I tried to comprehend her metaphor. _What does insanity have to do with anything?_

"What does you _not _being insane have anything to do with showing people who you really are?" I asked as I pulled the car to a stop at the suspect's residence. She sighed in frustration, but I couldn't understand where her strange, sudden anger was coming from. These last few weeks she'd been especially cold and emotionless. I was almost _glad_ to see her angry—if only to get some kind of emotion from her.

"Because no one likes her," she said evenly. She was so calm and so sure of what she said, but I couldn't believe it. Where was the anger from earlier? Then she continued, "Why should I continue to be a person that no one likes? How is that at all rational?"

"What are you talking about Bones?" I responded immediately. _What the hell is she talking about? Is she really so blind that she can't tell that she has a whole family of people who love her and depend on her? _

Probably, he answered himself.

So, gently I said, "I've seen who you really are, and I think you're great!" I tried to smile my charm smile at her—the one that always melted her—but she looked away, turning back toward her window.

"No you don't Booth," she said. She seemed to be working hard to keep her temper again. I was surprised and confused by her words. How could she honestly sit there and say that I didn't like the real her. Wasn't I the only one who would put up with her? Doesn't that give me _some_ points? Then she broke into her explanation. "You don't like the scientist who refutes professions and practices that she believes to be unnecessary; you don't like the woman who does not eat meat and who does not like pie because cooked fruit is a waste of the fruit's nutritional values; you don't like the awkward, anti social who doesn't know pop culture references, who takes idioms seriously, and who doesn't understand sarcasm; you don't like the little girl who can't face rejection because she's had too much of it. Those are all facts, Booth. You don't like those things, but they are what make up the _real_ me." By this time, I'd pulled into the suspect's driveway and stopped the car. Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything she'd listed were things that I'd either teased her about or said something callous to her about—sure I'd apologized, but obviously the words had still hurt her. But how could she not know that all those things as a whole were what made me love her in the first place? I didn't get the chance to tell her, because she continued before I could process everything she'd said. "When I told you that I wasn't good enough for you, you believed me; when I told you that I couldn't change, you agreed and said that you'd just move on then; when I told you how much I love you and how much I regret trying to protect you and that stupid little girl who's afraid of rejection, you ran the other way. Since everything has already happened, I see no reason for us to discuss this further. We have a case to solve." With that, she opened her door and got out, completely professional. Not even registering what I was doing, I followed her out of the car.

_How does she think she can put all the blame for our situation on me? _

"There appears to be no one home," she said to me in that completely professional, unemotional scientist voice of hers—that stupid squinty thing that she hides behind when she doesn't want to face something that she's afraid of. Then she asks, "Do we have the proper paperwork to enter this facility?"

I couldn't even bring myself to answer. For one, I was feeling way too guilty about what she'd just revealed, and second, I was still processing.

"Bones," I began slowly with a frustrated sigh. "What the hell do you think you're saying? How could you think that I don't like you?" I sighed again. I had to remember that this was what she did best: she ran from any situation that might cause her the slightest bit of emotional discomfort. "You know that's not true, it's just you being too weak to face reality."

I couldn't believe that I had just said that to her. Hurt flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by anger. This anger was worse than before. She looked murderous. (No pun intended.) But the anger couldn't fully hide her shock and hurt.

"Weak?" she asked. Her voice sounded so small, I almost broke right there. But I couldn't. It wouldn't help her or me if I stayed silent.

"Yes, weak," I retorted. To be quite honest, I was angry at her. Well, not really _at _her, more like _because of her. _I was over her—_over her_—so the sight to her hurt shouldn't hurt me so much. "The impervious Dr. Brennan can't deal with something, so she either runs away from it or overly logicates it." I smirked, at her, feeling rather proud of myself for standing up to her and giving her the hard facts for once. The look that flashed in her eyes honestly made my life flash before my eyes; it was that scary.

"I. Am. Not. Weak." She said, pronouncing each word carefully. Her eyes flashed up at me in pure anger. "I am an intelligent, successful woman who has overcome many adversities to get to this point. I have a career—forensic anthropology of the body _as a whole unit_—that is my life. I have traveled to lands that you cannot even pronounce and have lived off nothing for months—even years. I have led the scientific world ever since I entered it." She leveled her eyes at me. "So, I may be socially inept, emotionally ignorant, and my heart may be impenetrable, but I am not _weak_."

If I'd been thinking clearly, I would have refuted her evidence—I would've told her that she was perfect and she never needed to change. But I was too into the argument—I was just too angry—so I wasn't thinking clearly, and once again, I didn't say the right thing.

"And for all that Temperance," I said pointedly—angrily, pronouncing her first name carefully, "what will you have left when you can't be a scientist anymore? When you die?"

And just like that, looking at the hurt in her eyes that even she couldn't hide, I realized that I'd gone too far. She sucked in a breath and looked up at me in shock. She couldn't even summon anger to mask it. In that one moment to silence, I read all the emotions raging under her anger, and I wanted nothing more than to take back my words—to take back everything since I'd returned from Afghanistan.

"Bones—" I said, reaching out to her. But she shied away from me, looking dazed and confused.

"No," she whispered in a broken voice, backing up as fast as she could. She backed up so fast that she hit the brick wall of the suspect's home. Her head slapped against the brick and I winced in pain with her. Her eyes got all blurry looking, and she was stumbling for a moment. I went forward to steady her, but then she yelled louder, "No! Stay away from me!" And then she turned and fled in the other direction. Acting on reflex—the same one that had prompted me to save her life again and again—I reached out and caught her wrist in my hand.

"Bones," I started, trying to explain—to apologize. Her other hand came up and slapped my face. She jerked my arm from my grasp. For a moment, I was too shocked to speak. Her eyes were wild with panic, as if she thought that I would physically hurt her. The thought made me sick.

"Booth," she said quietly in an almost drunken voice, like she couldn't focus, "I am going to take a walk and call someone else for a ride home. Do not follow me, just get in the car and go home." With that, she turned on her heel and left, stumbling all the way.

For about a minute and a half, I just stood there, unable to more. It was so much to process, finally seeing what my partner felt. The way I'd been treating her was inexcusable. I wanted to slap _myself_ for not realizing it sooner. And speaking of slapping, I moved my jaw and tasted blood. Well, Bones sure wasn't physically weak, that's for sure.

Thinking of Bones brought back the memory of her head slapping against that brick wall, and the way she'd stumbled away afterwards. That was about five minutes ago now. I knew she wouldn't appreciate me following her, but I was too worried about her to care. I took off in the general direction I'd watched her go.

"Bones," I called softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Bones!"

I called over and over, but there was no answer. Just then, my cell phone rang.

"Booth," I answered immediately.

"What the hell did you do, Seeley?" It was Angela and boy was she mad.

"Angela, thank God!" I didn't care that she was angry at me—in the back of my mind I knew I deserved it—I was just relieved. If Angela knew something was up, then that meant that Bones had called her, and if Bones had been able to make the call, that meant she was fine. "Did you talk to Bones? Is she okay?"

"Yeah I talked to her," Angela said, "but she's not okay. She was sobbing when she called me, then she started moaning like she was trying to talk, but she couldn't get the words out. Then there was silence. I'm almost there now." She paused. "Booth, what happened?"

"I think something's really wrong," I managed to get out. "I have to go look for her. I'll call the ambulance."

"Wait, Booth," Angela said. "She said she was by a road."

_A road. _And I knew where she was.

"Thanks, Ange," I said in relief, and then I hung up to be ready to call 911. I was already running down the road when not 100 yards from the suspect's house when I saw her. She was unconscious and laying on the side of the road in the shelter of a small grove of trees.

"Bones!" I yelled, even though I knew she wouldn't answer. Whipping out my phone, I dialed 911.

"Emergency Response, how may I help you?"

"I have an unconscious woman. She hit her head and stumbled off. I just found her."

"What is your location?" the responder asked immediately. I related it as best as I could. "Someone will be there within five minutes. In the mean time, make her as comfortable as you can, and keep talking to her. I'll stay on the phone until the ambulance arrives."

"Thank you," I said. Then I set the phone down and took off my suit jacket. Folding it up, I placed it under her head. I looked into her face and noticed that it seemed thinner than usual, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Making sure that she was comfortable, I began to talk to her.

"Look Bones," I began, "I know I've been really horrible to you. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. And everything I just said to you? It was terrible of me, Bones. I had no right to say any of it. So guess what? You have to wake up so you have the chance to get me back. Wake up so you can hit me again. Wake up for Angela and Hodgins and their baby—she has to know her Aunty Bones. Wake up for all your interns—they depend on you to learn, Bones. Wake up for Max and Russ—I don't know what Max would do without you. Wake up… for me. Please, Bones. I love you."

The sound of tires made me look away from the broken woman in my arms. It was Angela and Hodgins. I got up and waved them down. As soon as the car stopped, Angela was out of the passenger's side.

"How is she?" she asked. Then she caught sight of Bones. "Oh my… Bren!" She rushed over to her friend. "What happened, Booth?"

"We were arguing," I answered. "It was so stupid. Then, I went too far and said something even more stupid." I paused, trying to get it out. It was even harder than I'd thought it would be. "She was trying to get as far away from me as possible, Ange. She backed up against the wall and slapped her head. Then she ran away."

She took a moment to process this. Finally, she spoke.

"What did you say Booth?"

Could I even answer that question?

"I s-said," my voice broke, but I took a deep breath and willed myself to continue, "I said, we were arguing and I was angry and I said… I said, 'What will you have left when you can't be a scientist anymore? When you die?'"

And she just looked at me in shock. Then I heard the Ambulance sirens approaching.


End file.
